A Moment of Pleasure
by VampireNaomi
Summary: A sensual poem written by Frederick II was discovered in Berlin in September 2011. Most of the world thinks it's hilarious. Prussia disagrees. Fritz/Prussia.


This was written on the Hetalia kink meme as a response to a prompt in which someone requested a story that had something to do with how an erotic poem written by Frederick was discovered in Berlin this September.

Parts of the poem I used in this fic are my own translations from the German translation (the original was in French). I'm not a native speaker of German or a poetry expert, so I'm sorry if the translation is off.

The story includes Fritz/Prussia sex, but it's not very descriptive.

**A MOMENT OF PLEASURE**

"Swept away by love, trembling with – pff, hahaha!"

"Hey, let me try!" Poland grabbed the sheet of paper from America's hand and resumed where the other nation had left off. "Trembling with impatience! He plunges into the arms of Chloris!"

Prussia was sitting at the meeting table and tried to grin at the other nations' attempts at reading the whole poem with a straight face, but it was stretching his acting skills to their limits. He kept telling himself that there was no need to be bothered by the laughter or the increasingly ridiculous gestures that accompanied the dramatic readings.

It didn't really work.

"This isn't quite how I imagined it would go," France pointed out by his side, huffing a little. "These barbarians have no appreciation for fine art."

"You can say that again," Prussia grumbled.

"Sorry if it's getting under your skin. When one of my people discovered the poem, I thought it would be a good idea to bring it to the meeting. I thought you'd love a chance to talk about Frederick."

Normally, Prussia would have lapped that up like honey. He never needed an excuse to bring up the best king who had ever walked on Earth. This time, however, he would have rather struck up a conversation about Austria's up-coming piano concert, and that was saying a lot.

"It's okay," he said. "It's not like Fritz' awesomeness is going to diminish just because a bunch of idiots don't appreciate his poetry."

In fact, he didn't mind that the others were laughing. He could take a joke, even about Old Fritz. The problem was something else, something much more personal, but he wasn't going to admit that to anyone. Not even to France, though he supposed that France might be one of the few nations to understand his sour feelings.

"Hey, Prussia! Why did you never tell us that your boss used to write erotic poetry?" America asked.

"Yeah, we share our bosses' dirty secrets all the time!" Denmark added.

"I didn't know about it, okay? Didn't you listen to what France said? It was just discovered in Berlin," Prussia replied. "And cut it out. It's a good poem."

"Haha, sure it is. Okay, next round! Who wants to start?"

Germany cleared his throat impatiently. "I think it's high time we returned to the topic of the financial crisis most of us are suffering from."

"Yeah, yeah, in a minute. It's not every day we get to read porn written by one of our bosses!"

"It's poetry!" France objected.

"And what are you, fucking twelve? Just give a rest already!"

Prussia didn't realise that he had raised his voice and jumped to his feet before he saw every nation in the room staring at him, some in surprise and some in irritation.

"Dude, what's with you? You're the first person to point and laugh when one of our bosses does something stupid. Don't be a hypocrite," America said.

Prussia gritted his teeth at America's words. Stupid, huh? He grabbed a sheet of the English translation that France had passed around, crumbled it into a tiny ball in his hands and tried to hit America in the head with it. Sadly, he missed for about two feet.

"Keep going without me. It's not like you needed me in this meeting in the first place!" he snapped on his way to the doors, slamming them open as he marched out.

Even through the anger that made him see red and want to grab a longsword and just hack at something like in the good old days, he knew that he was going to regret this later. Germany would lecture at him for causing a scene, and his friends would ask why he was suddenly so touchy. He'd have to come up with some lie. He would never tell them the truth. It was only for him to know.

He found his way into one of the break rooms and collapsed on a couch. He hoped that nobody would come after him.

It had been a great surprise when France had announced the discovery of the poem and shown it to everyone at the meeting. It wasn't the existence of the poem, no, just that someone had found it. Prussia had known about it all these years. He had a copy of it hidden between the pages of one of his diaries. It was engraved in his heart, and he could recite it whenever he wanted, especially the last few verses.

He had been hoping that nobody would ever find a copy of the poem. While he was glad that Fritz was the topic of discussion again, he would have rather let this poem remain forgotten. It was too personal, and Prussia didn't want to share it with the rest of the world.

He closed his eyes and leaned back, thinking back to what had been a perfectly normal night in 1740 but had later become much more significant.

* * *

Prussia was humming quietly to himself as he made his way up the stairs after having raided the kitchen. It was hours past midnight. He was supposed to be present to oversee the following day's training, but the lack of sleep didn't bother him. He was full of energy these days.

He was still licking his fingers when he caught sight of faint light coming from under the door that led to Frederick's study. The new king was also supposed to be there the following morning. Prussia frowned in displeasure.

"Hey," he said as he pushed the door open. "What's up with working at this hour? Candlelight will ruin your eyes."

Frederick looked up from his writing and scowled in irritation. "We've been through this. Does my nation not know how to knock?"

"Knocking is for sissies," Prussia said and came to stand before the desk.

"I would appreciate at least some basic manners from you."

"Manners won't help us grow strong. Or do you think I'm going to knock before I go and kick Austria's ass and burn down his house?"

Ah, there it was. The faintest hint of a smile that Frederick was doing his best to hide. Seriously, Prussia loved that. Having a boss with a sense of humour that matched his even a tiny bit was amazing. He could already tell that he and Frederick were going to be amazing together.

"So, what are you writing?" he asked and circled behind Frederick's back to take a look at the sheet of paper on the desk.

"It's nothing, really."

"Aww, poetry again," Prussia said in disappointment as he read the first few lines. Then he read a little further and let out a low whistle. "Hey, this is a lot better than the last one. Hot stuff!"

"It's not finished yet," Frederick said and tried to cover the lines from his view, but he couldn't just shove the sheet of paper away or the ink would smear.

"So, who's the lucky lady? Surely not Elisabeth?" Prussia asked. It was no secret that Frederick didn't have much affection for his wife. It might become a source of worry later when the issue of successors came up, but for now Frederick was young, and Prussia was happy and full of vigor.

"It's art. I can write about sentiments shared by all of mankind. It doesn't have to be anyone specific," Frederick said, a defensive edge in his voice. His cheeks had developed the slightest red hue.

"Hey, calm down. Like I care if it's about some kitchen maid."

"It's not! I'm only writing this because a friend of mine had the audacity to claim that men from southern Europe are more passionate than we could ever be. I'll prove him wrong!"

Prussia took another look at the poem. Well, it was passionate, he supposed. Still, it had one vital flaw in his opinion.

"It would be better if you wrote it in German," he suggested.

"German is vulgar. French is the true language of the arts."

Other than Prussia himself, no one could be absolutely perfect, and this was one topic on which he and his king disagreed. He didn't have anything against French, but it was German that flowed in his veins; it was the language that his people spoke. Hearing Frederick speak of it with such disregard in his voice made him feel like the man was pulling out his hair one by one.

He crossed his hands behind his head. "Whatever. Write it in Russian if you want to, but not now. You're old enough to know when you should be in bed," he said.

"You're far older and still up."

"That's just because my king is awake. A loyal nation doesn't sleep when the boss is up."

Frederick snorted faintly. "I'd believe that if there wasn't grease on your uniform. You've been in the kitchen again."

"Yeah, well, I was hungry," Prussia said with a defensive shrug.

"There's no need to sneak around like a thief. You only need to ask."

"But that's not fun. My policy is to take what I want and not ask questions."

For a moment, Frederick looked at him in thought. "Is that so? And what if everyone followed that policy?" he finally asked.

"Then we'd all be having fun because we'd have to fight over the best things in life. That would be great!"

"I'd say we're already doing that. But what would you do if what you wanted was wrong? Would you still take it?"

Prussia shrugged again. "Define wrong. Are we still talking about stealing some pork in the kitchen, or is this something bigger now?"

"Never mind. You're right. It's time to call it a night."

"Good. For a while there, I thought you'd go all philosophical on me. Or worse, start doubting the whole Silesian deal because it's unethical or some crap like that."

"No," Frederick said with a laugh, and while the sound was happy, there was something behind it that crept up Prussia's spine in a way that he liked. "Don't worry. I'm not turning you into a pacifist nation. Quite the contrary."

"Good. Because you'd be ruining my perfection."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Frederick took the sheet of paper with the unfinished poem and blew on it to make sure the ink was dry before putting it away with some of his letters. Prussia forgot all about it even before he had exited the study, their conversation having filled his mind with more important and grander pursuits.

* * *

The years Prussia spent with his king taught him a lesson he had always considered impossible – that there could be someone else in the world who deserved his adoration just as much as he himself. Frederick was everything Prussia could have asked for in a king, a tactical genius, a warrior, an artist and a thinker. He wasn't above leading the troops personally, and Prussia's soul burnt like fire whenever they rode side by side under their flag.

Prussia knew it wasn't a good idea to open up his heart to a mortal. It always led to trouble. And yet he couldn't help himself. Frederick was too gorgeous and too perfect. Even worse, he was bold enough to make the first move and pull Prussia into a kiss when they should have been discussing their next battle plan.

That was how it all started. If Frederick had been shyer, less determined or if he hadn't felt that same yearning in the first place, everything would have been simpler. But that wasn't how it was meant to be, and the king and the nation who couldn't resist each other were soon locked in an embrace that became so much more.

It was on a night like countless others that the poem resurfaced again. Prussia was on his back on Frederick's bed, the king's body pressed against his. His hands clutched at the sheets and his breath got caught in his throat as Frederick pushed into him.

Frederick's hand moved to caress Prussia's side, and the nation couldn't help but laugh at the soothing gesture. It was completely unnecessary. They had been with each other so often now, and Prussia had seen and experienced much, much more than this during his life.

"I won't break no matter what you do."

"I'm not afraid of that," Frederick replied.

"Then how about moving a little? I'm getting impatient and needy over here."

"Aren't you always?" Frederick asked with a chuckle, but he didn't do what Prussia had requested. He looked down at him so intently that it made Prussia feel like he was seeking out every detail of his body and hiding them away in some corner of his mind like treasure.

"What?" he asked.

"Well..." Frederick's cheeks were tinted red, and he reached up to brush some of his hair away from his eyes.

Prussia loved it when he could make Frederick uncomfortable and could have normally spent hours watching him. But not now. Now he had needs to be sated, and his king was being a total sadist by stretching and filling him and not doing anything more.

Just as he was about to announce that he was going to organize a take-over and lead that night, Frederick spoke again.

"Do you remember when you found me writing a poem at night?"

"Which one was it again?" Prussia frowned and tried to recall if there was anything significant he should have remembered. Maybe this was a game and he'd get what he wanted in bed if he could give Frederick the right answer.

"The one about the two lovers."

"Oh, right! That one! Sure!"

"You don't remember a single thing about it."

Alright, Frederick had always been frighteningly good at seeing through him.

"Well, so what? Do we really need to talk about this right now?"

Frederick pressed his forehead against Prussia's chest and chuckled. "I like it when you whine."

"I don't whine!" Prussia snapped in mortification. "I bark commands!" To illustrate his words, he wrapped his legs around Frederick's body and forced him a little closer against him.

"I want to read that poem to you," Frederick said.

Prussia paused, at first not sure what to say. "Is reading poetry in bed your thing? You should have told me, and I'd have brought my Regnard with me a long time ago."

"Oh, be quiet. I want to read it because it's about you."

Prussia blinked. "Uh, wasn't there a woman in it?"

"The details don't matter! It's the sentiment!"

There was now an irritated gleam in Frederick's eyes, and Prussia figured that he had better keep his mouth shut and listen if he wanted this night to go anywhere. He let out a sigh but didn't move his legs, just to remind his lover that he wasn't a doormat who'd do everything he said.

"So, you wrote a poem about me. I guess I'm flattered," he said. "But wasn't that years ago? Long before we..." He didn't finish and instead gestured at their current situation with his hands.

The blush on Frederick's face deepened, though it was a little hard to tell in the candlelight.

"I noticed you long before that. You were always in my father's court, but you were so much younger than the others. I asked about you, but they could only tell me your name, not who you were or what your position was," Frederick said. "So, I grew more and more curious. I don't know when that turned into... into want, but it was before I became king and learned who you really are."

"Haha, so you were watching me from afar? Can't blame you; I bet everyone does that." Prussia chuckled and paused to think. "So, what did you think when you figured out who I am?"

Frederick pressed his head back against Prussia's chest. "I was delighted. I never knew my nation could be so gorgeous." His breath was warm against Prussia's skin and made him shiver. Or at least he liked to think it was that and not the affection in his king's voice.

"So, the poem?" Prussia prodded.

Frederick let out a hum and didn't even turn to look at him.

"Oh, wonderful. Don't tell me you're having stage fright or something. We've been lying here for who knows how long, and I'm going to get muscle cramps soon, so say your poem and let's get on with it!"

"You aren't at all romantic."

"I'm a militant nation. What did you expect?"

Frederick sighed. "Fine. I suppose it's my fault anyway." And so he started reciting the poem, but he barely made it to the end of the first verse before Prussia interrupted him.

"No, wait. Stop."

"What?"

"Read it to me in German."

Frederick looked at him and lifted his brows. "Oh, so is that your thing, then?"

Prussia pouted. "Shut up and do it. No French. German is a great a language."

"You mean for occasions like this when I've got my dick up your ass?"

Prussia opened his mouth, but whatever comeback he had wanted to say died on his lips as he registered just what Frederick had said to him. The king wasn't a dainty man by any means, but he was usually soft-spoken in bed.

Fredrick looked at him poignantly. "I told you it was a vulgar language."

"I don't care! It's still the best!"

Prussia gave the man on top of him a rebellious kick to the back with his heel to show him how pissed off he was growing. It earned him a chuckle out of Frederick, and he started again from the beginning. He spoke German this time, and he recited the poem slowly because he had to translate it in his mind.

He also started moving, finally ending Prussia's torment. Frederick was always gentle with him, but he had learnt to like that. He arched his back and dug his fingers into Frederick's shoulders, urging him on as he pushed into him.

But even more than the fullness, the thrusts and the fingers around his length, he relished the sound of his language as his king made love to him and spoke words of adoration against his skin.

"Our happy lovers... in their utter passion... in the outburst of love... they knew only themselves."

Prussia laughed, and if his breathing hadn't been so heavy, he would have pointed out how well it spoke of him that Frederick had written a poem about having him in his bed. As it was, he was content with biting into his lip and clenching his eyes shut when another thrust threatened to tear a moan from his throat.

Reading poetry in bed was perhaps a totally sissy thing to do, but at that moment he loved it. And he loved Frederick. Prussia couldn't say where his love for him as the man who was bringing so much glory to his country ended and where his love for him as simply a man started, but he didn't care. Frederick was different from everyone who had come before him, and he already knew nobody would be able to replace him later.

Maybe it was because it was this thought in his mind, but the next words Frederick spoke chilled him in a way that he hadn't been expecting.

"Such was... the happy fate... of these lovers... But... the joy ends... in the morning... everything is gone..."

No. Prussia didn't want to think about what that implied. Not now. He pressed his fingers harder into the flesh of Frederick's shoulders to make him moan and stop with the poem. When that didn't work out as well as he wanted, he forgot about holding back himself and cried out in pleasure so that he wouldn't have to hear the rest.

The poem was over before either of them finished, but Prussia barely registered that. He clung to Frederick as he reached his climax and then collapsed on the bed, spent, satisfied and yet unsettled. However, he chose to forget about the strange ache in his chest when Frederick finished some moments later and pressed a kiss against his skin.

"So, how was the poem?"

"Fine, I guess."

"Just fine?"

"Not as good as the sex if that's what you're wondering."

Frederick snorted in displeasure. "Your tastes could be a tad more refined."

"Nah," Prussia said. He moved his fingers to Frederick's face and cupped his cheek. "I'm the best just the way I am. Admit it."

Frederick didn't, but the amusement in his eyes told Prussia all he needed to know.

* * *

After that night, Prussia didn't think much of the poem. Perhaps he ignored it on purpose, but he preferred to think that he was simply too busy fighting and being the best nation in the world to bother with mundane things like that.

However, sometimes when he lay awake at night, either alone or by Frederick's side, the last few verses of the poem came to haunt him. Years later he suddenly realised that his king could no longer run up the stairs with him and that the passionate nights were becoming fewer and fewer until all they did was sip wine in their arm chairs and talk. That was when he could no longer ignore what had been a simple fact of life since the day Frederick had been born.

The flames in the fireplace were the only source of light in the room. It wasn't a cold night, but Frederick was sitting awfully close to the fire. He hadn't spoken much since they had settled down and had instead spent a good while stroking one of his dogs between the ears. Frederick wasn't very social in his later years.

Prussia watched how shadows danced on the king's face and felt his stomach clench. It probably wouldn't be that many years from now. He couldn't imagine how he'd be able to take that, but somehow he would have to.

"Hey, Fritz."

"Hm?"

"You remember that poem you wrote about us in bed?"

Frederick smiled, but his smile was always tired these days. "Of course."

"Then will you read it to me again?"

"It's been so many years. I don't think I remember it anymore."

"Well, don't you have it written down somewhere? Don't tell me it's lost."

"I might have a copy among my other writings in my study."

Prussia jumped on his feet. "Then I'll go and get it."

He ran to the study and spent some fifteen minutes going through the papers and letters before he found what he was looking for. It didn't take as long as he had expected, and he noticed with some satisfaction that the corners of the sheet of paper were worn out like the poem had been read often.

"Here," he said as he returned to the sitting hall and handed the poem to Frederick.

"Ah, this old thing. I'm surprised you even remember. Why do you want to hear it again all of a sudden?"

"No reason. Will you read it?"

"If you insist."

Prussia took a seat in his chair, but he only had to hear the first few verses to know that he didn't want to listen to the poem like that. Last time there had been such affection and closeness, and even if he could never have that again, he wasn't content with just this.

"All that appeals to the eyes –" Frederick stopped abruptly when Prussia got up again and shooed the dog by his side away. The nation took the dog's place, and while it held implications that everyone in Europe would have mocked him for, he didn't mind one bit.

Frederick chuckled, and his fingers came down to stroke Prussia's hair. The king hadn't touched him in a long time. Even if it was just this little gesture, Prussia felt himself relax, and he leaned back against the hand as Frederick resumed reading the poem.

Prussia braced himself, knowing that the part he hated was coming.

"Such was the happy fate of these lovers. But the joy ends; in the morning everything is gone."

He grabbed the hand in his hair and brought it down against his cheek. It had once been so soft and smooth as it had caressed his skin, but now it was old and frail. Prussia was almost afraid he might crush it if he squeezed too hard.

"Happy, the one whose spirit never succumbed to the pompousness of power. And who knew the joy!"

Prussia swallowed hard and closed his eyes, nuzzling Frederick's hand against his face. It just might be the last time.

"A moment of pleasure for those who enjoy it is worth as much as a century of glory whose beautiful appearance is deceptive."

Silence reigned for a long time after Frederick finished.

"Why did you write that?" Prussia finally asked.

"Did I never tell you? You were in my thoughts for such a long time."

"Not that. I mean the ending. It's fucking depressive."

Frederick said nothing, so Prussia got up on his knees and turned around so that he could look up to him.

"I don't want it to end like that," he said.

"I'm old. The country needs a new king to lead it. To lead you."

"Frederick William is nothing. He doesn't know a thing about war. I don't want him. I want you." Prussia didn't care that he was babbling now. He was frightened; he didn't want to keep going if he couldn't have his king by his side. "I don't care if you're old. None of it matters. Just... don't go. Please."

He pressed his forehead against the arm rest and clenched his eyes shut. Frederick's fingers returned to his hair, trying to soothe him.

"I didn't want you to get this attached to me. When I wrote the poem, I didn't think we would grow close. I wrote those last verses without thinking how you would feel. They felt so beautifully tragic to me back then as I imagined what it would be like for one like you."

"There's nothing beautiful about it," Prussia muttered.

"Do you regret it, then?"

Prussia shook his head. He had loved every moment he had spent with Frederick. Their victories and struggles would always be among his most cherished memories. He'd never trade those away, even in return for someone taking away the heartache.

"You'll be fine," Frederick said reassuringly.

"Prussia will always be the best kingdom in the world," Prussia said once he trusted his voice enough. "I'll never let anyone ruin your work. Even if every other country falls, Prussia will be standing in the end. I promise."

"You shouldn't make promises you don't know you can keep. You can't predict what will happen in Europe in the up-coming centuries."

"I don't care what happens! I'm the best, and I'm leading this country to glory even if I have the most incompetent king in known history! A hundred years, five hundred, a thousand. Doesn't matter."

Frederick smiled. "Do your best."

"I'll have to. Your nephew is going to be a handful," Prussia grumbled. He brushed his fears off his mind but remained kneeling on the floor. He hadn't lost his king yet. They could still have a few years, and he was going to cling to every single second.

* * *

Prussia sighed as he finished reciting the poem in his mind. Well, things certainly hadn't turned out the way he had wanted. He hadn't been able to keep his promise for long, at least by the standards of a nation like him.

He hoped that Frederick didn't mind and that the fact he was still alive and just as awesome as before was enough for him. He didn't have lands or people or an army, but he wasn't beaten. He wasn't going to give up and disappear just because he wasn't on the map anymore. Someone had to stick around and make sure all the losers in the world didn't forget who had been the best boss ever.

And the best at some other things as well, but that wasn't for the rest of the world to know. They just wouldn't be able to handle all that awesomeness if Prussia told them.

It was probably high time he returned to the meeting. Knowing the attention span most nations had, everyone had probably already forgotten about the poem and had started fighting about something. And if not, Prussia was the best person to make that happen. Some memories things were only for him to cherish.

Prussia chuckled and wiped his eyes because the sunlight pouring in through the windows was too goddamn bright. He stood up with new determination. Now he'd just have to decide if he wanted to start by saying something crude about Austria's fashion sense or mention Alaska to Russia.

"Well, Old Man, watch me go and make sure your awesome poem is never tainted by those losers again. They won't even remember it exists once I'm done!"


End file.
